Gastrosexual Bleach
by RukiLex
Summary: Series of unrelated one-shots, each a different Bleach pairing, focusing on seduction through food. Feel free to suggest pairings and foods, and I will try to incorporate them into a chapter. Rated T for mild sexual situations, rating may change.
1. I Scream for Ice Cream: IchiRuki

**Author's Note****: This is the first in a series of one-shots that I've challenged myself to write focusing on love, lust, and food in the Bleach universe. Each chapter will feature one pairing. Most entries will be canon, although a few may stretch the universe a bit. All, for now, are rated "T", but I reserve the right to change the rating if the mood (*squirms slightly*) strikes me.**

**These one-shots were inspired by a show I listened to about "Gastrosexuals," which is defined in Urban Dictionary as, "Men who use their culinary skills to impress their friends and potential love interests." I have expanded that definition to include women, as well.**

**Feel free to suggest foods and/or pairings you'd like to see, and I'll do my best to incorporate your suggestions into future chapters. Enjoy!-Lex**

Chapter One: I Scream For Ice Cream (IchiRuki)

She was upstairs in the closet, sleeping. He was downstairs in the kitchen, still wondering why Isshin had taken the girls and left him alone. Well, sort of wondering.

"_Dirty old man,"_ he thought. _"As if I don't know what you're up to."_

Three hollows in the past few weeks and both of them were becoming complacent. The war had been over for a year, school was out. She had insisted on moving back into the closet while the girls were gone; he hadn't slept in three days, worried he might do something in his sleep he'd regret. Like opening the closet door…

They hadn't even kissed, although there had been the time when she tripped over a pile of dirty laundry on his floor and he had caught her before she fell.

"_You are a pig, Ichigo," she said, as she looked up into his face, just inches away. Her cheeks were slightly pink, and he nearly dropped her on the floor. "You do not know how to keep your room clean when Yuzu isn't around to pick up after you."_

"_I…" he stammered, painfully aware of how close his mouth was to hers. He could see the tiny gold flecks in her violet eyes. He had never noticed before how they sparkled in the sunlight._

"_Baka," she said, pulling away from him and pulling out her phone, hoping there'd be something else on the screen but a lone text message from Renji, still in the Soul Society._

_He stooped down and picked up the clothes, tossing them into the hamper he had missed last night. He turned back to say something to her, but she had jumped out the window and up onto the roof._

"_Idiot," he said to himself._

Then there was the time he nearly ran into her in the hallway, dressed only in a towel, her hair wet. She looked like a drowned rat. A very tempting, delicious drowned rat…

"Stupid," he said to himself, shaking the image from his brain. "You're going to make yourself crazy."

Yuzu had left her favorite cookbook on the counter.

"_Boys need to learn how to cook, too," she said, wagging her finger at him. _

_Karin glared at the two of them and grunted. "He's hopeless, Yuzu. The only way he can cook rice is in a machine," she said, throwing down the gauntlet._

_From that day on, when he was around, he watched Yuzu cook when he thought she wasn't been looking. He'd never told anyone, but he actually tried cooking a few dishes at Chad's apartment with some success– Chad having been sworn to the utmost secrecy._

"_Breathe a word of this to anyone," Ichigo told him, "and I'll personally kick your ass into Hueco Mundo." He had only been half-joking._

He took the cookbook and set it down on the table. It opened of its own accord to a page out of which stuck a piece of paper with a border printed in teddy bears and hearts. On the paper was a handwritten note in Yuzu's still-childish print:

_Ichi-nii,_

_Carpe diem. The way to a girl's heart is through her stomach. Dad's a letch, but he's right._

_Yuzu_

_PS: I know you've been watching me cook, so don't even try to play innocent with me!_

Ichigo blinked. That was _his_ Yuzu? Sweet little, innocent…well, she was in high school now, he thought, sheepishly. He didn't want to think about what that might mean. His sisters were no longer the little kids who were only interested in soccer and teddy bears. And, come to think of it, he had seen Jinta leaving the clinic several times in the last month. He looked down at his hand and realized he had unconsciously ripped the note in half.

"_I'll kill that brat if he comes anywhere near my sisters," _he thought, laying what was left of the note on the kitchen table.

He looked back at the cookbook. 'One Pound Caramel Ice-Cream'. And, on the counter, the electric ice cream maker Yuzu had gotten as a birthday present, along with a bag full of wrapped caramel candies. He smiled.

"_No one needs to know I made the stuff myself,"_ he thought, picking up the candies and beginning to unwrap them.

A pint of heavy cream, three eggs, a half-pound of sugar, a pound of caramel and an hour later, he watched the creamy concoction swirl around the machine. Bands of thick, white custard mixed with the heavy caramel sauce in dizzying bands of tan and brown. He stopped the machine and dipped his finger in. He'd never tasted anything so rich.

He smiled. A mischievous smile, half bad little-boy, half hormone-imbued man.

He reached for a small bowl and spooned out some of the ice cream. It wouldn't take much, he knew. Just a little bit…

********************************

She was lying on the bed in the closet, trying to decide if she should shed her gigai and head to Urahara's to train. Another day without a hollow. She yawned.

The door to the closet slid open, and she sat up abruptly, hands folded over her chest in protest.

"You are supposed to knock."

He said nothing, but grinning annoyingly.

"What is wrong with you, Ichigo?" she said, irritated now.

Again he said nothing, but this time, as she began to speak, he withdrew a spoonful of ice cream from the bowl behind his back and unceremoniously stuck the spoon, upside-down, into her open mouth. Then, slowly, he pulled the now-empty spoon from between her lips and watched her with interest.

For a moment, she did not speak, overcome by the sensation of creamy sweetness which caressed her tongue. Then, she began to round on him, trying to come up with just the right insult for the situation.

And, again, he put a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. _"A spoonful of heaven,"_ she thought, wondering why she had never tasted anything so incredibly…_sinful…_ before.

She sat, speechless, on the small bed, her mind a jumble of acid retorts and goo. She couldn't think. All she could do was run her tongue around her mouth, licking the tiny droplets of sweet cream off her lips.

Ichigo's grin was now a half-smile, half-smirk.

"Missed a spot," he said, putting the bowl and spoon down on the side table and sitting down next to her on the bed.

She raised her hand to her lips, but he took it before it reached its objective.

"I can help with that," he said.

She had expected him to pull a napkin out of his pocket, or even to use his own hand to wipe her lips. But, instead, he kissed her, tasting her sweetness, which was far more intoxicating than the caramel ice cream could ever be.

What began as a look of surprise on her face melted, as the bowl of ice cream was want to do, and she sighed softly. He released her lips and she whispered, "Ichigo."

He smiled, dipped his finger in the bowl and rubbed the cold concoction onto her lips, then kissed her again, this time more deeply. She wrapped her arms around him and ran her hands through his already tousled hair.

"_I owe you dinner, Yuzu,"_ he thought, smiling still.

The bowl of ice cream lay, melting into soup, on the table by the bed.

**A/N: Feel free to suggest pairings and food for future chapters! I'll update when the muse strikes…mmmmm.**


	2. Love, War and Curry: UraharaXYoruichi

**Author's Note: I stayed up too late last night and couldn't help myself! Thanks to lamekirby for the food suggestion - just seemed like the right pair to add to the mix. Also thanks to everyone who reviewed and to those who sent suggestions for future chapters! I'm always open to more. Can't guarantee I'll use them all, but I do appreciate the ideas! And, for those of you waiting on updates to my other fics, "Irresistible" and "Chasing Dragons," I am working on them and hope to post them when I return from vacation - thanks for asking! -Lex**

Chapter Two: Love, War and Curry (UraharaXYoruichi)

In the beginning, when he first left the Soul Society to live in the Real World, she shared meals with him and, often, she also shared his bed. Theirs was a comfortable relationship with no commitments and no promises; it seemed the perfect arrangement for two independent souls, strong-willed and, admittedly, self-absorbed. But things change, souls age, and even self-sufficient, narcissistic spirits eventually crave the regular company of a lover, a partner.

The Winter War's conclusion meant that Shihouin Yoruichi was no longer an outcast or, at least, no longer someone who had to be careful to cover her tracks when traveling between the Real World and the Soul Society. To be truthful, no one had paid her much attention when she had wandered the streets of the Seireitei in her cat form before the war, but she had used the threat of capture as an excuse to keep her whereabouts a secret from everyone, including Urahara Kisuke. The prospect of keeping him, or anyone for that matter, apprised of her location still made her quite uncomfortable.

"I could never settle down," she had told her friend Kuchiki Byakuya, one night over sake. A great deal of sake.

Byakuya, for his part, had said very little in reply. He had long since accepted that Yoruichi would no longer visit his bed, regardless of her professions of independence. He knew her heart better than she, and he knew who _held_ her heart - and it was neither he, nor her erstwhile pupil, Soifon. Still, he was happy to share the company of his childhood friend, regardless of whether they shared a simple cup of sake or something more physically satisfying.

"I am going to Karakura tomorrow," she had told him, as she had thrown an empty sake bottle into the corner of the room and grabbed another.

"Hmm," he had replied, watching her in amusement.

She had opened the fresh bottle and quickly taken several large gulps, eschewing the tiny sake cups for the more direct method.

"Ichigo needs someone to kick his ass into shape. He's getting soft without the Arrancar to push him around."

"Hmm," Byakuya had said, for a second time.

"What are you being so damned smug about, Byakuya Boy?" she had asked, taking another large swig from the bottle and offering him the remainder.

"I am not being smug," he had replied, stonily, inwardly enjoying goading her. "I am only listening to you, Shihouin-sama."

"Meh," she had said, waiving her hand dismissively and leaning back against the pillows. "You're hinting around at something. I know it."

"I am merely remarking upon the fact that this is the third time this month you have, as you say, 'gone to Karakura to help Kurosaki train'," he said, pouring a dainty cup of sake and handing her back the still-unfinished bottle.

"He needs to train," she had said, yawning openly and burping at the same time.

"Of course," Byakuya had replied, sipping from his glass. He would say no more about it.

Two hours later, she was asleep in her own bed, after telling herself that spending the night with Byakuya would mean that she would not be well-rested for her sparring match with Ichigo.

*******************************

She arrived through personal Senkaimon gate late in the morning, having overslept, as usual.

"Morning," she said, yawning in Urahara's face as she passed him in the hallway leading to the Urahara Shoten.

He smiled from underneath the brim of his striped hat, but said nothing. He knew her too well to engage her when she had overindulged in sake the night before.

"Where is Ichigo?" she asked, pulling her long hair into a tight ponytail.

"Waiting for you in the training grounds," he replied, brightly, glossing over the fact that the substitute shinigami was seething, having been kept waiting now for nearly two hours.

"I'm staying for dinner," she replied, stifling another yawn.

"Of course," replied Urahara casually. "I will have Tessai fetch you when the table has been prepared."

"Right, right," she said, waving her hand and turning down the hall towards the ladder that led to the training grounds. "Tell him to cook something good, for a change. And tell him to make sure there's plenty of food. I'll be hungry."

Urahara bowed in the manner of a servant, but the gesture was lost on her, since she had already started to climb down the ladder. He lifted the brim of his hat and watched her leave, a mischievous smile on his face.

*******************************

"Tessai," said Urahara, several hours later, as he sat drinking tea, "I will cook dinner tonight. Can you arrange to take Jinta and Ururu somewhere for the weekend?"

Tessai raised an eyebrow but said only, "Certainly." Then, when Urahara waited expectantly for nearly a minute, Tessai added, "Is there something I can get for you?"

Urahara smiled coyly. "Why yes, there is."

This interaction had become something of a ritual for the two men. Urahara would never _ask_ Tessai outright to do him a favor; Tessai would offer assistance, and Urahara would gladly take it. This left Urahara free to return the favor only if he so desired. And Urahara rarely desired it.

"I have a list of…ingredients," said Urahara, handing Tessai a long piece of parchment, "that I need you to purchase for me."

Tessai nodded and looked at the list. "Are we having company, Urahara-san?" he asked, his face betraying no particular interest in the answer, despite the growing curiosity he felt. He knew that he would get a better answer if he appeared disinterested.

"Yes," replied Urahara. "I have, shall we say, an agenda that I wish to pursue."

"Really?" said Tessai, now following the unwritten protocol of repeated question and answer which would elicit the details of Urahara's dinner plans. "What type of agenda?"

"I wish to cement a certain _liaison_ which has been, as of late, languishing."

"I see," replied Tessai, glancing knowingly at the list. "I hope your strategy is…effective."

"Thank you," Urahara replied, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly as he spoke.

******************************

The smell of freshly-ground coriander mixed with grated nutmeg, turmeric, cinnamon, fenugreek and red pepper wafted about the shop and into the training grounds below. Yoruichi watched Ichigo climb the ladder to the Shoten to leave, but her mind was elsewhere. Her sense of smell had always been quite discerning - having spent a great deal of her adult life in feline form, the end result of which was that her ability to smell was far greater than that of any human, even in her gigai.

She lay back on the grass and looked up at the ceiling, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. She stretched her muscles in a catlike fashion, unfolding her limbs with the fluid grace of a dancer. Her stomach growled in protest, as she fought the urge to climb the ladder to discover what the source of the intense aroma was.

"_He said Tessi would come get me," _she thought, unwilling to appear overly eager to pursue dinner or anything else, for that matter. Despite nearly a century of exile from the Soul Society, she was still royalty, after all. Battle was one thing. Life, however, was quite another. She expected to be catered to, regardless of where she went.

A half an hour passed, then an hour, and still she lay, fighting the growing hunger in her belly, waiting. Two hours passed, and still no Tessai.

"_Tessai is late," _she thought, with mild irritation. She did not like being kept waiting.

Another hour passed, and she was now more than just hungry; she was _famished_. She stood up slowly and walked over to the ladder. It was unlike Tessai to be late. And, on an evening when she was to spend the night, it was nearly unthinkable.

"_I will just go upstairs and look,"_ she thought, finally, climbing the ladder and emerging into the shop.

Up here, the spicy aroma was heady, thick. She breathed in deeply, feeling the cinnamon and nutmeg caress her nostrils. Her stomach growled its response. This was too much.

"_I'll give Kisuke a piece of my mind about the delay," _she thought, hands on her hips. But, as she walked towards the living quarters of the shop, the smell became more and more intense, and she started to feel dizzy. A minute later, all thought of complaining was gone, replaced by a hunger which she had not experienced in decades. She licked her lips with feline grace, following the aroma.

She was mildly surprised when she walked right past the kitchen, still following the smell - the source of the incredible aroma was not here. She walked past the common room and the staff's living quarters, still inhaling large gulps of the sweet spiciness from time to time. Finally, she found herself at the door to Urahara's living quarters, comprised of three rooms, including a sitting room and a bedroom.

There, on the floor of the bedroom, was a small table and two cushions. The table, which sat only a few feet above the ground, was covered with steaming dishes of rice mixed with almonds and orange peels, flatbreads, raisins, dried apricots and dates, and, in the middle of it all, a large tureen filled with a glossy curry of reddish-brown. The smell was intoxicating.

She looked around the room, feeling for his Reiatsu. Nothing. She sat down at the table. _"He knows I'll just go ahead and eat,"_ she thought, with a grin, deciding that she would not give in so easily. _"Two can play at this game."_

She waited. Fifteen minutes, a half-hour, an hour. The food remained hot and steamy, despite the long wait. _"He's been experimenting again," _she thought, chuckling to herself. _"Probably figured out how to grow a hot pepper which will keep food warm."_

Two hours later, and she was still sitting on the cushion, waiting. _"Baka,_" she thought, biting the side of her cheek to keep herself from screaming in frustration. _"This is too much. Where the hell is he?!"_

Midnight, and no Urahara. _"I'll just eat without him,"_ she thought, forgetting her earlier resolve to wait.

She took a large spoonful of the fragrant rice and put it on her plate. Then, with great pleasure, she filled a large ladle with the thick, brown curry and emptied it on top of the rice. The smell nearly overwhelmed her. Carefully, she spooned out several of the dried spices that surrounded the other dishes, making sure to add a good measure of red pepper. Her plate now full, she picked up her fork and brought it to her plate. Just as quickly, however, she stopped, holding the fork in mid-air, studying the plate.

"_Damn him," _she thought, mesmerized by the smell and the sensual sheen of the sauce on the rice.

She couldn't eat. The realization was startling_. She did not want to eat without him._

Yoruichi stood up abruptly. _"Damn him,"_ she thought again, nearly stomping her foot in frustration.

She walked away from the table.

"_What the hell is the matter with me?"_ she thought, pacing back and forth now, like a tigress in a cage at the zoo.

"Damn you," she said, out loud this time. "Damn you, Kisuke."

"_I could never settle down."_ The words, spoken less than a day before, reverberated in her mind.

"_When I get my hands on you, I'm going to strangle you,"_ she thought, imagining her hands about his throat, squeezing hard.

"This is all your fault, Kisuke," she said to no one in particular, as she continued to pace.

Urahara Kisuke.

"_Irritating. Stubborn. Infuriating."_

And then,

"_Sexy smile. Bedroom eyes. Hands that..." _She stomped her foot hard on the wooden floor.

"_Where the hell is he?"_ She paced some more. She stared at the walls, but what she saw, in her mind's eye, was far more appealing.

"_Perhaps someday you will decide you wish to stay with him."_

"Damn you, too, Byakuya Boy," she said, kicking a stray pillow that had fallen off the couch and knocking over a small lamp covered in rice-paper.

"_I am merely remarking upon the fact that this is the third time this month you have, as you say, 'gone to Karakura to help Kurosaki train.'"_

Yoruichi kicked over a small table on which sat a tea set. Bits of china flew about the room.

"_Perhaps I will see you again soon."_ That coy little smile, those eyes peering out from under the stupid hat. The dirty blond hair that made her want to run her hands through it. The musky smell of him. The way his chest felt when she…

She picked up a cup from the floor that had survived the fall, intact, and threw it hard against the wall. It shattered into tiny bits of blue and white.

"Damn you, Kisuke," she said again, louder this time. "Damn you to hell!"

More pacing, a few more well-placed kicks, and the room was destroyed, with the exception of the table of food, left entirely unscathed. She took several deep breaths, hands on her hips.

"_I'm hungry,"_ she thought, simply.

She sat back down at the table full of food and crossed her legs.

Urahara walked silently into the room, noting the state of his belongings with an apparent lack of concern. He sat down at the table, facing her.

"Harissa?" he asked, peering out from under the brim of his hat.

"Yes," she said, quite calmly. He handed her a small bowl of the spicy tomato paste.

He served himself a plateful of curry, still steaming hot, and reached for a flatbread, ripping it in half and giving her the larger piece. She was, after all, a princess.

She did not look at him, but nearly inhaled the food on her plate, barely giving her tongue time to register the sweet heat.

"It's good," she said simply, her mouth full of rice and curry.

"I'm glad," he replied, smiling at her coyly, daintily dipping his fork into his food and bringing it to his lips. He breathed in the aroma and slipped the fork into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the bits of rice and vegetables.

"_Damn you, Kisuke,"_ she thought, watching him eat when she thought he would not see her. This time, however, the thought was less battle cry and more surrender. Urahara smiled, and took another mouthful of curry.

She refilled her plate, not waiting for him to offer. She was willing to cede the battle, but she would not change so easily for him.

"I'm staying," she said, between mouthfuls this time, to make sure her meaning was clear. "For a while. Maybe longer."

He looked at her with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.

"There's just one condition," she said, her amber eyes simmering.

He raised an eyebrow.

"_You_ do the cooking."


	3. The Waiting Game: OrihimeXUryuu

**Author's Note: A bunch of you suggested an Uryuu/Orihme pairing with one of Orihime's famous (infamous?) recipes. I thought maybe I'd send her a little help...lol! Enjoy! -Lex**

**Chapter Three: The Waiting Game (OrihimeXUryuu)**

_**Three-thirty in the afternoon in Karakura Park.**_

"He's not coming."

"He'll be here, he promised," she said, watching out over the park, feeling for his Reiatsu. "You don't have to wait, though, Uryuu."

"It's alright," he answered. "I'll wait with you, Orhime."

****************************

_**Five-thirty in the afternoon in Karakura Park**_

"It's starting to get dark, Orihime."

"Yeah, I know," she said, brightly. "I'm sure he just got distracted. He'll come. I'm sure of it."

"Okay," replied Uryuu. "I'll go get us something to drink."

"Oh, that's so sweet of you, Uryuu. Thanks."

******************************

_**Seven-thirty in the evening in Karakura Park**_

A loud growl from Orihime's stomach. "Oh, excuse me!" she giggled, with a little hiccup.

"It's alright," said Uryuu, trying hard not to laugh.

"You must be hungry, Ishida-kun," she said, looking at him with sad eyes.

"I'm fine, really," he said, uncomfortably. _"Damn Kurosaki."_

"Oh, okay," she replied, turning back and resuming her vigil.

******************************

_**Nine-thirty in the evening in Karakura Park**_

"Ohirime," began Uryuu, "he was supposed to be here at two o'clock. He's not coming."

"Yeah," she said, deflated. "I guess you're right."

"We really should go."

Stomach growls all around this time. She laughed, but her face still looked sad.

"We should probably get some dinner," he said, awkwardly.

"Yeah," she said, a faraway look on her face. Then, "Why don't I cook us up something, Ishida-kun?"

He hoped the look on his face wasn't too pained at this thought. "I, ah, well…" he began, at a loss for words, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

"Great!" she said, emphatically, standing up and turning to leave the park before he could protest. He followed behind apprehensively.

"_I can just swallow quickly, not put the food on my tongue," _he thought as he walked.

"Now, let's see," she began, putting her index finger to her mouth in contemplation. "I have some red bean paste, marshmallow fluff, anchovies, soy sauce, potatoes, dried mushrooms, bean sprouts, tofu, fish sauce…"

Uryuu stayed a few feet behind her as she continued to rattle off the contents of her pantry, convinced that his face must surely be a sickly shade of green by now.

"_Swallow quickly," _he thought fervently, steeling himself.

"…oh, and there's that special spice powder Urahara gave me that he made up himself," she finished, with a flourish.

A half-hour later, he was sitting on her floor, watching her chop up ingredients and stir them about in a pan on the stove. The smell of garlic mingled with the sweetness of the red bean paste and marshmallow fluff, and he had to stand up and walk over to the window to breathe in some fresh air.

"_Swallow quickly,"_ he repeated to himself, like a mantra.

Bits of tofu, potato and salty fish were unceremoniously dumped into the pan. He stayed by the window, which he had fully opened when he thought she wasn't looking.

"Ah, Orihime," he began, his resolve weakening, "I…"

"Almost done," she said, cheerily, interrupting him, oblivious to his growing dread. "Just one more ingredient." She lifted up a small, red wooden box to show him. "Urahara-san gave me this the other day. He says it's good for what ails you and it adds spice to your life."

She reached out and handed him the box. He opened the top apprehensively, preparing himself mentally for what he was convinced would be the worst thing he had ever smelled. Instead, he was more than pleasantly surprised.

"Mmm," he murmured, inhaling the aroma. "What is this?"

"I have no idea. Spices, I guess," she said, giggling.

It smelled unlike anything he had ever smelled before. Or, maybe not like _anything_, but more like _something_. He couldn't put his finger on it. He closed his eyes and inhaled more deeply.

_He saw blue waves breaking gently off a white sandy shore and heard musical laughter._

"_What the hell?"_ he wondered, blinking and coming back to his senses. _"I must be tired."_

He handed her back the box, carefully replacing the lid so as not to spill its contents. "It smells really good," he said, smiling at her.

"Yeah," she said, "I thought so, too. Only I can't figure out what it smells _like._ At first I thought it smelled like fresh-mown grass, but then I wondered if it didn't smell like cotton, right out of the laundry, all fresh and clean. But then I thought maybe it smelled like…," she broke off, looking slightly confused.

"Well, it doesn't really matter, does it?" she continued, opening the box and taking several pinches of the powder and stirring it into the seething gray concoction that was cooking on the stove. "I mean, it's good for us, right?"

Uryuu blinked. She always succeeded in confusing him when he tried to follow her babbling.

"_Just smile and nod,"_ he told himself as his brain grew fuzzy.

He helped her put the dishes on the table, having found a white tablecloth neatly folded on the shelf nearby. A large bowl of steaming rice sat in the middle of the dishes, along with a pot of hot tea. He was grateful that there was something he knew he could, or _would_ eat on the table. He could always wash down the gray goo with tea and rice.

She giggled and inhaled deeply from the pot as she pulled it off the stove, gently setting it down on the table between the plates. It didn't smell half bad, he thought with some relief. He could always cover up the dishwater color with the rice.

"_Swallow quickly,"_ he reminded himself, as he smiled at her patiently.

"I hope you like it, Ishida-kun," Orihime said cheerfully, as she took her seat facing him.

"I'm sure I will," he lied, still smiling. "Rice?"

"Thank you," she said, as he ladled some out onto her plate and then onto his own.

"That was nice of you to wait so long with me at the park, you know," she said, spooning gray goo onto both of their plates.

He looked at her to avoid looking at the food. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat of the stove and her long auburn hair looked slightly windblown. Still looking at her, he plunged his chopsticks willy-nilly into the pile of food on his plate and brought a small taste to his lips.

It was delicious.

He looked down in disbelief. The gray goo had oozed over the rice. It looked a little bit like the mud left after a snowstorm in the city, when the snow has melted, but the sidewalks are still wet.

"Wow," he said, "that's incredible."

_He saw a woman running on the beach, her reddish hair flying behind her, outlined by the sun. He could smell the surf, hear her laughing. He smiled, too, and dipped his bare feet into the water. It was cool and refreshing._

"Yeah," she said, licking her lips distractedly. "It tastes so…I don't know…so…"

_She could smell the flowers, dipped in the first dew of morning, and linen, crisp and clean. Sunshine warmed her shoulders, and she giggled as his hands reached to massage them…_

Orihime blinked, hard.

"Are you alright, Orihime?" asked Uryuu, a look of concern on his face.

"I…uh…," she stammered. "I…I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," he said, watching her cautiously. He looked into her eyes, searching for something, although he had no idea what he was looking for. He never noticed how beautiful her eyes were, or how her nose turned up slightly when she spoke.

"I'm fine, really," she said, regaining her composure. "It's just that…you look _different_ that you usually do." She blushed.

"Different?" he asked, thinking the same thing about her. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "It's kind of like when Kurosaki-kun is around. I look at him and I feel all tingly…" She blushed scarlet this time as she realized what she was saying.

"_What the hell was in that stuff?"_ thought Uryuu, the intellectual in him struggling for clarity. He found none. All he wanted to do was…

"_Kiss her?"_ The thought was absurd. He knew how she felt about Ichigo. She had waited hours for him, again. Still, the thought was there, and he felt his face moving towards hers, across the table.

"_But I can't," _he thought, the more disciplined, cerebral side of him momentarily gaining the upper hand. _"I…"_

_She_ kissed _him_.

_He saw the beach again, the woman running on the sand. The woman turned around and smiled at him. He knew her face. Orhime. She gestured to him, willing him to follow her._

_He_ kissed her _back_.

For a moment, neither of them breathed. It was like a revelation. And all the while, the scent of the red bean paste, marshmallow fluff, anchovies, soy sauce, potatoes, dried mushrooms, bean sprouts, tofu, fish sauce, garlic and unknown spices wafted up from the table into their nostrils, making them both quite dizzy.

"More?" she said, dreamily, after a few minutes.

"More…," he murmured, unsure if she meant 'more food' or 'more kissing'.

"More," she said, scooping up a spoonful of goo and putting it on his tongue. He swallowed, slowly, not taking his eyes off of her. Instinctively, he did the same for her, and they sat there, in silence, feeding each other spoonfuls of the gray goo until the pan was nearly empty.

He pushed the table gently away, so they sat now, with nothing in between them.

"Orihime," he began, sure his cheeks were bright red, "I…"

"Yeah," she said, "I know what you mean…"

He moved closer to her and pulled her against him, running his hands through her hair. She sighed, all thoughts of a certain orange-haired substitute shinigami gone from her mind. He kissed her, tasting the goo on her tongue, inhaling the spices and the scent of her.

"Thanks for cooking," he said, breathily, releasing her lips for just a moment. "It was delicious."

"_You are delicious," _he thought, with a grin.

She was thinking the same thing.

********************************

Several miles away, in a small shop that rarely saw a customer of the human variety, Urahara smiled from underneath the rim of his green and white striped hat. Yoruichi sauntered into the room with feline grace, wrapping her arms around his chest from behind, biting the lobe of his ear.

"What are you doing up so late?" she purred, kissing him on his neck. "Working?"

"No," he said, with a grin. "I was just tying up a few loose ends."


	4. Openings and Okonomiyaki: HitsuKarin

**Author's Note****: This chapter was written for BeastMedley, who won my review challenge and came in with the 600th review of my fic, "Twin Moons." Girlfriend, this one's for you. And when your mom asks why you have a grin on your face eating pancakes, tell her the chappie was PG rated, please! *winks* Enjoy, ya'll! -Lex**

Chapter Four: Openings and Okonomiyaki* (HitsuKarin)

"Damn Kurosaki's," Hitsugaya Toushirou muttered under his breath. "Unpredictable, headstrong and impulsive." His turquoise eyes were the color of a mile-deep glacier, cold, hard, and unforgiving.

It was midnight, he was tired and, as ever, undeniably grumpy. Truth be told, though, Hitsugaya Toushirou was far more uncomfortable than he was angry about the interruption. Having _her_ show up on his doorstep – in his personal quarters at the Tenth Division – was simply more than he could tolerate. It simply was unheard of. It was…unsettling.

_Why me?_ he wondered, his frown so deep, the lines on his forehead threatened to become permanently etched there. _She could have gone anywhere. Matsumoto's quarters. Rukia's._

Rukia would have been the most logical choice, of course. And yet, there she was, sitting on a cushion in his living quarters, sulking.

He hadn't seen her in nearly ten years. She had been no more than a child then, stubborn and reckless, just like her brother. In all fairness, when she had shown up on his doorstep in the Seireitei, dressed only in a summer Yukata, he hadn't even recognized her.

_We've both changed_, he thought, keenly aware of the hint of stubble on his chin.

That he was no longer a child had become the source of relentless teasing on the part of Matsumoto Rangiku, always quick to take the motherly approach with him (except when indulging in sake, of course). As he grew in stature and his body began to change, she would alternately pinch his cheek and then try to set him up on a date with some low-ranked shinigami she and Abarai Renji had 'picked out' for him.

The other Gotei 13 captains had, with varying degrees of success, also managed to embarrass him on occasion about his 'growth spurt'. Ukitake Juushirou had, only last week, noted the fact that Toushirou now towered over Rukia, one of the tiniest shinigami in the Seireitei, and that he finally had reached Kenpachi Zaraki's chin. Hitsugaya was still quite narrow through the hips, slim and fit, although his chest now sported clearly-defined abs which Yachiru had, in her ultimate wisdom, dubbed his 'egg carton'. Pointing out to her that the more modern, hip description of the muscles there was a 'six pack' had not changed her mind.

_Better eggs than Jell-O,_ he thought, with a smirk.

Kurosaki Karin, on the other hand, had changed in ways that left Hitsugaya Toushirou decidedly uncomfortable. Her hair - no longer the shoulder-length bob that he remembered from their short-lived friendship in the Real World - was now a deep, glossy brown that ran over her shoulders in a way that reminded him of chocolate melting on a hot day. Her face, having long-since shed its baby-fat, was still slightly heart-shaped, with the trademark Kurosaki chin. That was where her resemblance to her brother and father ended, however. Now, her cheekbones were high, her lips fuller than he remembered, the blush on her cheeks more obvious. She was, he was loathe to admit, quite beautiful.

_Focus, Hitsugaya, focus,_ he chastised himself. _You need to think of how to get her out of here and back to the Senkaimon._

He simply did not have time for this _angst._ His, not hers, of course. He took a deep breath and walked back into his quarters from the small garden outside.

"Let me have Matsumoto take you back to the gates," he said, plastering on a smile for good measure.

She looked up and glared at him. "I told you, I'm not going back."

He sighed. _What the hell do I do now?_

"I understand that you and your father had a little dis -"

"Not a disagreement," she supplied, darkly.

"-difference of opinion," he finished, quickly. "But I'm sure, given time, he will come around."

"Look, Toushirou," she said, hands crossed across her chest. "I told you, I'm not looking for a shoulder to cry on. I just need a place to stay for the night. I'll go see Yamamoto-sama in the morning about admission to the Academy."

"It's Hitsugaya-taicho," he corrected, quite patronizingly. "And don't you think maybe Rukia-chan would be a better choice of a roommate?"

"She's dating my brother," Karin replied, from between gritted teeth. Hitsugaya raised an eyebrow. "You really didn't know?" she laughed, seeing his expression. "Good lord, you really are clueless, aren't you?"

He scowled but said nothing. He had heard it before – how out of touch he was - most recently from Hisagi Shuuhei, newly-minted Captain of the Ninth Division. Hearing it from her lips made his face feel slightly hot. He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, shaking his head all the while and saying things, under his breath, that would have made his grandmother blush.

_She's still a damn brat._

He heard footsteps behind him, but he ignored them.

"I'm hungry," she announced.

_Really,_ he thought. _What a surprise._

"You're the host," she continued, "you're supposed to offer me something to eat."

"I…," he began, choking back the stream of expletives that threatened to fly out from his lips.

"What do you have to eat?" she asked, looking over his shoulder into the kitchen. The heat of her breath on his shoulder led him to shiver slightly, and he quickly moved all the way into the kitchen to put some distance between them.

_Shit_, he thought, as his body responded of its own accord. She moved closer, and he wondered briefly if she realized the effect she was having on him. Dismissing the thought as ridiculous, he proceeded to set water on the stove for tea.

"Well?" she prompted. "I mean, tea is fine, but I was hoping for something a bit more…substantial. I haven't eaten since this morning."

"It's nearly midnight," he said. "What have you been doing all day?"

"Walking," she said. "Around the Rukongai."

"The Rukongai?" he spat out, clearly disturbed at this pronouncement. "That's far too dangerous for…"

She reached down to her side and touched the hilt of her zanpakuto, then glared at him. "I'm perfectly capable of defending my honor," she replied. "In fact, I'm perfectly capable of attending the Academy, too, even if my father disagrees."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," he said, equivocally, trying not to take sides.

"Of course he does," she answered, "although every one of them begins with 'my beautiful, sweet daughter can't'. Fill in the blank."

He opened a cabinet over the stove.

"Pancakes?" he offered.

She frowned at this change of tack.

"Pancakes for dinner," he said, as if she were particularly slow. "You said you were hungry."

"Hn," she replied, shrugging.

"Pancakes, then," he said, figuring that was the best he would get from her in her current, emotionally-compromised state.

"I didn't know you knew how to cook," she said, eyeing him warily.

"I don't," he answered, with a dismissive flick of the wrist. "Matsumoto picked me up a few boxes, last time she went shopping."

"Shopping? Where do you find instant pancake mix in the Seireitei?" she asked, at a loss.

"Not in the Seireitei," he replied. "In Karakura."

"Karakura?" she ventured. "Why Karakura?"

_Shit,_ he thought. _Let's see how you explain this one, Mr. I'm-in-control-here-dammit Hitsugaya-taicho._

"She…," he began, hesitating slightly, "she has a few stores she likes to go to there. You know, some of the places she went to when we were there years ago, before the war."

"She goes _shopping_ in Karakura?" Karin repeated, dumbfounded. "You expect me to believe that, of all the places she could sneak off to, she goes _there? _What kind of an idiot do you think I am, Toushirou?"

"Hitsugaya-taicho."

"You haven't answered my question," she said, rounding on him. "Why is Matsumoto shopping in Karakura?"

"Because I asked her to," he mumbled, almost incoherently.

"Can you please repeat that," she said, frowning. "I'm not sure I understood you."

"She went to Karakura because I asked her to," he repeated, so loudly that his voice echoed through the small kitchen, causing several glasses on a nearby shelf to ring. His face was pink.

For a moment, Karin was silent. Hitsugaya, hoping she would drop the issue, proceeded to pull the box open and dump its contents into a small, metal bowl.

"You sent her to Karakura to check up on _me_, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said, taking out a measuring cup from a drawer and filling it with water.

"You know exactly what I mean, don't you, Toushirou?" she parried, her frown now looking a bit less menacing than before.

Hitsugaya poured the water into the mix and quickly grabbed a spoon from a nearby holder, stirring the mix and making sure his eyes remained fixed on the bowl. It was safer that way, he reasoned.

"I…," he stammered, utterly mortified. He guessed that, by now, his face was a brilliant shade of fuchsia. Kyouraku Shunshui's favorite pink floral kimono came to mind. She moved closer to him, nearly pinning him against the counter. He breathed a sigh of relief that, at least, she could not see his face.

"Well? Am I right?"

He hesitated briefly, realizing that if he continued to stir the batter at this pace for much longer, they would have hard tack for dinner instead of pancakes. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "Yes. You're right."

There was dead silence in the kitchen.

_Shit. Now what?_

"You've been keeping an eye on me since I was a kid, haven't you?" she asked. She sounded more stunned than angry, and he breathed a slight sigh of relief.

"I…," he hesitated, uncharacteristically, wondering when it had gotten so hot in the kitchen. "Yes. I was concerned for your welfare."

She laughed softly. "Concerned for my welfare? That's a first," she said, shaking her head.

"Your father and brother are concerned for your welfare, too," he retorted, defensively.

"Not like that," she replied.

"Surely the reason Isshin is so adamantly opposed to…," he began.

"He isn't opposed to the Academy because he's worried I'll get hurt," she said, interrupting him. "He's just afraid to see me leave. And Ichigo…," she paused, briefly, "Ichigo's here so much, _I'm_ the one left chasing hollows."

It was true. Hitsugaya had seen Kurosaki in the Soul Society so often in recent months, he had begun to wonder when Yamamoto would slap a haori on the kid and fill the last remaining open captaincy in the Gotei 13.

Hitsugaya reached over the small stove and pulled out a frying pan from a high cabint, pouring a touch of oil into it and lighting the flame underneath with a flick of his wrist.

"I didn't know you could do fire," laughed Karin, happy for a break in their discussion.

"Learned how my first year at the Academy," he replied, casually. "I'm still not very good at it."

Hitsugaya poured a small bit of the batter into the frying pan and it sizzled slightly. Then, hoping to distract from the previous topic, he offered, "Would you like to cook a few?"

"I don't know how to cook," she replied, slightly sheepishly. There were, of course, plenty of things she _could_ do, she observed. Cooking, however, was one thing that Yuzu had never been willing to compromise on – or at least not since Karin had nearly burned the house down when the twins were eight years-old. Yuzu was the sole cook and bottle washer chez Kurosaki.

"It's not difficult," he replied, turning to look at her. "It's a little bit like handling a sword – it just takes a little practice." And then he did something that shocked her completely: he smiled.

"Alright," she said, taking the spatula from him and looking warily at the pan.

"Wait until you see bubbles around the edges of the pancake first," he advised, in much the same patronizing tone she guessed he used to give sparring pointers to his squad members.

"Now," he said, "take the spatula and run it along the bottom of the pan at an angle, until you get it centered under the pancake."

She made a face of intense concentration and angled the spatula high.

"Not quite that much of an angle," he said, putting his hand on her elbow and guiding her. She swallowed hard and bit her tongue. It was not, however, the daunting task of flipping the pancake that had her sweating. He was close – too close to her.

"Now you're going to gently turn it over," he said, putting his left arm around her waist and onto the handle so that both of his hands now lay on top of hers. He lifted the spatula with her, and the pancake settled back gently onto the pan. He was intensely away of how close his face was to hers.

"What now?" she asked, vaguely aware that she was no longer asking about pancakes.

"You have to wait a minute or two, just until you see the edge of the bottom begin to turn light brown," he replied, his hands still on hers, despite the fact that the spatula was no longer being used.

He inhaled, the smell of cooking pancake mixing with the scent of her – fresh, clean, slightly citrusy.

"Now?" she asked, glancing at him. He nodded, and they scooped the pancake off the flame, putting in gently on a plate he had set on the counter. He released her hands, and she laid the spatula on the counter. Then, as she had seen him do minutes before, she poured a bit of the batter into the pan.

"Want to try it?" he asked, reaching over to the plate and pulling a piece off the pancake. She reached out her hand to take it, but he put it to her lips and she opened her mouth with a look of mild amusement.

_What the hell are you doing, Hitsugaya? _he wondered, vaguely, as he brushed a crumb from her chin. _Between her brother and father, you'll need to spend a week recovering in Intensive Care at the Fourth if you keep this up…_

"It's good," she said, smiling and looking at him as if considering her options.

He picked off another piece, grabbing the spatula in his other hand and flipping the pancake on the grill before it burned. He lifted the piece of pancake to her lips once more and she took it, but before he could withdraw his hand, she had taken his fingers in her own hand and brought them to her lips. He sighed, audibly.

"Why didn't you come to the Real World yourself?" she asked, his fingers still only inches from her lips.

"I didn't think you'd want me to bother you," he said, simply, figuring it was best to be honest.

"You wouldn't have bothered me," she replied, still holding his hand, but letting it fall slightly and moving closer to him. "In fact, I missed you after you left, you know."

"I didn't know that," he said. He had often wondered whether she had thought much about him since the soccer game.

She was so close now, he felt slightly dizzy.

"You've changed," she said, smiling.

"You, too," he replied, for lack of anything better to say.

"I'm sorry I showed up on your doorstep like some little kid," she offered, looking slightly contrite. "But, truth is, I didn't want to see Matsumoto or Rukia. I wanted to see you."

"I'm glad," he said, waving his hand gently at the fire under the pan and covering it with a sheen of ice to extinguish the flame.

She took her hand and ran it gently over the back of his neck, running her fingers through his white hair. He closed his eyes at the touch and put his arm around her waist. Then, gently, with the taste of pancake still on her lips, he kissed her.

"Tastes good," he said.

"Mmm," she agreed, kissing him back.

"I'll talk to Isshin tomorrow," he offered.

"Thanks," she said, kissing him once more and sighing softly. "Can I stay here with you tonight?" she asked. Then, seeing the blush on his cheeks, she added quickly, "On the couch, of course."

"Of course," he replied, nibbling gently on her earlobe and hoping he wouldn't sleep alone.

_Damn Kurosaki's_, he thought, with a childlike grin. _Unpredictable, headstrong, and impulsive.

* * *

_

*Okonomiyaki is a Japanese savory pancake containing a variety of ingredients. The name is derived from the word okonomi, meaning "what you like" or "what you want", and yaki meaning "grilled" or "cooked" (cf. yakitori and yakisoba). Okonomiyaki is mainly associated with Kansai or Hiroshima areas of Japan, but is widely available throughout the country. Toppings and batters tend to vary according to region (Courtesy Wikipedia).


	5. Bittersweet Chocolate: IchiRuki

**Gastrosexual Bleach**

**By RukiLex**

**Chapter Five: Bittersweet Chocolate (IchiRuki)**

**Summary: One-shot Gastrosexual Bleach installment and my entry into the DeviantArt IchiRuki Club's Valentine's Day contest. Prompt – Rukia gives Ichigo a handmade chocolate for Valentine's Day. Please check out the club, and enjoy the chocolate! IchiRuki, canon, mild spoilers through Chapter 434.**

**Disclaimers: Bleach belongs to the ever-so-amazing Kubo Tite, although the idea is mine. Sensei, we love you! Happy Valentine's** Day!

* * *

She stood outside the Kurosaki Clinic, balanced delicately on a lamppost, black shihakushō fluttering slightly in the mild breeze. The sun had set hours before. She had meant to arrive much earlier, hoping she would meet Isshin or Karin. But it was nearly midnight now, and she knew they would be long asleep.

_Two years,_ she thought, watching the window where the small desk lamp cast shadows on the curtains. Ichigo's room. Had it really been that long since she had last seen him? _He's there. Studying. Doing all the things he used to do before I first met him. As if nothing happened. As if…_

"Stupid fool," she said aloud, frowning as she caught herself indulging in self-pity. _There was never anything more than friendship between us. And now… _Now, he was human. Free to live his life without the weight of her world on his heart.

_Do you miss me, Ichigo? _

Her hand strayed to the large pocket of her kosode and the small box within. One step, and she would be at his window. And yet, she hesitated.

She had died too young to have celebrated Valentine's Day in the world of the living. In the Soul Society, those who grew up and lived in the Rukongai had never even heard of Valentine's Day. That tradition had died, along with their souls. No, Rukia had first heard of the holiday when she had lived with the Kurosaki's, years before. Only then, she had been too preoccupied with her work to care about it. What was another stupid human holiday to a shinigami, anyhow?

_You're afraid_, she told herself, hesitating once more.

She had managed to convince Ukitake that she needed to come to the world of the living to check on Karin the day before. She was pretty sure he had known this was a ruse, although he did not challenge her. She had worked hard since her promotion to fukutaicho, trying to show everyone – especially her brother – that she deserved her new position. But it had been more than just wanting to prove herself that had driven her to work so many long hours: she had _needed_ to stay busy, to keep her mind off of other things. Other people. One, in particular.

_Ichigo. _

He had always sacrificed himself for the good of others and, in the end, he had sacrificed the one thing that had linked him to her. _Baka! _At least he was alive. He could have easily died, she knew. How many times had she thought she had lost him forever and he had lived to fight again, by her side? _Not this time,_ she thought, allowing herself a self-indulgent smile.

"I am _not_ afraid," she announced, sending a few pigeons scurrying off a nearby telephone wire.

She had made the chocolate by herself in Urahara's kitchen, eschewing offers of help from Tessai and Ururu. They had seen her, face smeared with butter and cocoa, frowning and cursing the many failures that sat on the countertop. "I can do this myself!" she had announced with a scowl, and they had left quickly, afraid she might throw a utensil in their direction or, worse, her katana. She was a shinigami, after all. Making a simple piece of chocolate could hardly be more challenging than fighting Arrancar or Hollows. It was a matter of pride. She would do this herself.

Taking a deep breath, she jumped, alighting like a tightrope walker on the windowsill. The window was open and she hopped onto his bed without a sound, landing gracefully on one knee. Ichigo, bent over a book and listening to music with ear buds, looked at the bed and frowned. He saw nothing, of course, but he had sensed movement there.

For a few minutes, Rukia just watched him, noting the subtle changes in his features since she had last seen him. He looked older – less a boy now, more like a man. His shoulders seemed broader than she remembered, and he sat straighter in the chair than before. She wondered how much more had changed.

The room, on the other hand, was exactly as she remembered it. She glanced with longing at the closet, smiling to remember the nights she had spent sleeping inside of it, the pajamas she had stolen from the twins, and Kon, who now stayed at the Urahara Shōten, enjoying the new gigai Urahara had provided him.

_I am no longer part of this world_, she thought with a wistful expression.

Ichigo shifted, pulled the earphones from his ears, tipped the chair backwards, lacing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. He, too, looked as though he were remembering something of the past. But, of course, she knew she was just imagining that he might be thinking about her. He had a different life now, one that she was no longer a part of.

_Just like it should be._

She reached slowly into her pocket and withdrew the small box. It was not much bigger than a matchbox, made of decorated paper in shades of gold and red. She had folded it herself, pleased that the origami skills she had learned from her brother had not been wasted, after all. Gently, so as not to disturb the book or the papers on his desk, she set the box down by the lamp and stood there, leaning against the wall between the desk and the closet.

After a minute or two, perhaps more, Ichigo opened his eyes and reached for the open book. As he did so, the colorful box caught his eye. He frowned and looked around the room, his eyes traveling over the place where Rukia stood. Then, apparently deciding that the box must have been there all along, and he had just not realized it before, he picked it up in his right hand and looked at it carefully. His expression changed subtly, the edges of his mouth turning up just a bit. Rukia wondered if he thought one of his sisters might have left the box there – it was, after all, Valentine's Day.

The box sat on his open palm for a minute longer. At last, he set it back down on the desk and, gingerly, with the thumb and forefinger of each hand, pulled the box open. A single chocolate lay inside, held in place by a bit of tissue paper. He bent over the box and blinked in surprise. The small chocolate was a little lopsided, poorly formed, but there was no mistaking the look of recognition on his face at the misshapen ears of the rabbit face.

Rukia held her breath as Ichigo sat there, unmoving, looking at the chocolate. _Happy Valentine's Day, Ichigo,_ Rukia thought, biting her tongue as her eyes burned with unshed tears. Without thinking, she reached out her hand to touch the edge of the desk, leaning on it, feeling far more tired than she had realized. She looked away from the desk, trying to regain her composure. It didn't matter that he couldn't see her; she would not cry. _After all,_ she told herself, _it's just a Giri-choko.*_

He laughed, his high tenor now a bit lower pitched. At the same time, she felt a flicker of something on her hand and turned to see his fingers, covering hers. The touch was electric, and she gasped.

"You were always a lousy artist, Rukia," he said, looking directly at the place where she stood, the laugh still on his lips. "Kinda looks like a dead cat, but I like it."

"Ichigo," she whispered as his fingers curled around her tiny hand. She knew he hadn't heard her, because he did not react to her voice.

"I've missed you," he said with a grin.

"Me, too," she replied, knowing he wouldn't hear her, but needing to speak the words just the same.

"I _will_ see you again, you know," he said, his face more serious now, determined.

She rubbed her free hand over her eyes. _Damn you, Ichigo_.

"I know you're angry with me," he said, his voice gentle now, almost tender. "But I know you know I only did what I had to do. I didn't mean to leave you."

She sniffled.

"I've realized a lot of things, since then," he continued, and she could tell it was difficult for him to admit this. "I know it's asking a lot," he added, "but I want you to wait for me."

_Wait for you?_ she repeated to herself, dumbfounded.

"Abarai'd probably run me through for this," he said, laughing again. "But I was kinda thinking…" His voice trailed off and his lips pressed together; he looked quite uncomfortable.

She took her free hand and put it on top of his. _I know,_ she thought. _I was kind of thinking the same thing. _

After a few minutes passed, she withdrew her hand from his and walked back over to the bed. "Thanks for the chocolate," he said, standing up and facing her. From her perch atop the bed, their faces were at nearly the same height.

_You're welcome,_ she thought, reaching out to touch his cheek. She could tell by the look on his face that he had felt her touch.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Rukia," he said, as she hopped up onto the window ledge. "I'll see you around."

_You can count on it, Ichigo,_ was her silent answer, as she jumped out of the window and into the cool night sky. _I'm going to hold you to it!_

* * *

* Author's Note: In Japan, women give chocolate on Valentine's Day for different reasons. Chocolate given to a "true love" is called "Honmei-choko." Chocolate given to men such as bosses, colleagues or male friends that women have no romantic interest in are called "Giri-choko (obligation chocolate)." "Giri" is a traditional Japanese concept, a mutual obligation. So if someone does you a favor, then you are obligated to do something for that person. Here, of course, Rukia is deluding herself to think that she's giving Ichigo anything but Honmei-choko! -Lex


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